Favor
by DarkPoisonousLove
Summary: Weaver goes to Roni for that favor she owes him but the woman that made that deal with him is forever gone. Canon divergence in which Roni and Henry never went to San Francisco in search of Zelena.


**A/N: This has been sitting uneditted in a notebook for four months now and I finally decided to finish it. Some angsty Golden Queen because I apparently like to break my own heart. Hope you enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated.**

She wiped at the glass she was currently holding with abrupt motions, restlessness evident in every single one of them. It used to calm her before. When she was Roni. But now all it did was make her want to smash the glass into something. Preferably Drizella's face. It would do nothing to quell her anger though and would only cause more problems and she already had like a ton of those. She didn't need more.

That was when she heard the door of the bar open and knew without a doubt who that was. And in fact, when she looked up, she was faced with exactly what she'd expected – another one of her countless problems.

She watched him walk to the counter, a death glare that refused to bend to anyone's will–his or hers–on her face.

"I take it that my chances of a free drink are significantly lower after our last chat," he spoke with that annoying composure of his that always made her want to claw his eyes out. He sat on one of the stools, taking his time and making himself comfortable. As if time wasn't of the essence. And for him it usually wasn't. But they were all running out of time. Gothel and Drizella were planning something that could be the end of them all.

"What do you want, Weaver?" she asked, almost growling out the name. Her grip instinctively tightened around the glass in a way that was a second nature to her–only, she'd used to hold hearts before–so she slammed it down on the counter.

His eyes followed her movement and he winced in mockery when the glass clashed with the countertop. "You might wanna watch that anger, love," he said, having the audacity to look her in the eyes and still call her 'love' in an empty attempt to convince her he was still under the Curse. "Someone could get hurt," he said, concern finding its way to his gaze and making it unbearable to look at him.

It wasn't Drizella's face she wanted to smash the glass into anymore and Weaver was, conveniently, right in front of her but she made herself let go of the glass nonetheless. She threw the towel she was holding on her shoulder and braced herself on the counter, making an effort to make the pose look intimidating even though she knew it would be in vain. "I don't have time for games, Weaver. Say what you want or get out." If he wasn't going to help her, he could at least do her the courtesy of staying out of her way.

"I came for that favor you owe me," he said, all the seriousness returning to his gaze.

"Forget it!" she snapped, moving away from the counter and as far away from him as the surroundings allowed. "I don't owe you anything," she crossed her arms to keep herself from reaching for the baseball bat.

"You do," he spoke, unmoved by her outburst. "Those were your exact words." He had the insolence to demand that she keep her promise, all the while fully aware that the woman who'd given it was a completely different person from the one he was looking at right now.

"_I_ didn't say that," she punctuated, the words having a palpable edge to them that would leave anyone else bleeding but the only thing that could hurt him was his goddamn dagger.

"Well, perhaps you don't remember it," he said, the words a heartless mockery of her entire existence. "Maybe an arrest could freshen up your memory."

"I'm not playing your game, you bastard," she leaned forward, like a snake ready to strike.

He mirrored the action and she moved back but he caught her wrist and pulled her back to him. His other hand tangled in her hair and his lips crashed on hers.

She was forced to stay on her toes, her whole body pulled taut over the counter in an almost painful position. Everything in her was screaming to pull back but she couldn't. She was paralyzed by the fear that she'd been wrong all this time, that he was still very much under the Curse and she'd been talking to Weaver all along. She was terrified because if he wasn't awake, then the Curse was more powerful than she'd thought and they had lost. They were all lost.

His tongue brushing against her lips, seeking entrance, was what soothed her anxious mind, and she opened her mouth, welcoming it in. Because she knew him better than he cared to admit and the very fact that he was trying so hard to convince her that he wasn't awake was proof that he was. She could tell it was him by the way his tongue slid against hers and his hands held onto her in a way that was rough and borderline painful but still not completely without care. Because he cared about her, just not enough.

She pulled away, a few of her hairs tearing out and causing tears to spring to her eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself when a shiver ran down her spine. "Belle deserved better," she said, knowing full well that if there was anyone for whom Rumple had done his best, it was Belle. But it was the only way to hurt him and she knew it. "We all did," she added nonetheless, wishing to delude herself that he might feel a spark of guilt for what he was doing to her too.

His expression didn't change, that annoying composure of his too thick to be penetrated by her weak words. He locked eyes with her though. "Do me a favor, dearie, and pull yourself together. There are people who need you," he said before getting up from the stool and heading for the door.

The tears started falling then. He was right and she knew it. There were people who needed her. But she needed him.


End file.
